Free Turning the Tide by Christine Stovell

it.’
    Leaving him sprawled in the deckchair, she shot over to Lapwing . The prospective buyers were, she guessed, in their early forties; she with wavy, chin-length brown hair, his grey and slightly receding. They looked fit and well with, from what Harry could see, a full set of working knees and hips apiece to equip them for a good few years’ sailing; and, judging by their expensive casuals, enough spare money to afford it. In short, they looked like just the kind of owners she was looking for. Since David could be a bit limp, Harry had no hesitation in muscling in.
    ‘Have you come far?’ she asked, once David had got the introductions out of the way.
    The woman pulled a face. ‘Surrey. It was a bit of a trek on the motorway.’
    ‘But worth it when you got here, I hope,’ Harry beamed, crossing her fingers that she sounded convincing. ‘It’s very peaceful. Just the place to recharge your batteries.’
    They seemed to like what they were hearing; their faces brightened as they visualised tranquil weekends pottering round the backwaters.
    ‘And Lapwing ’s got so much character,’ she added for good measure.
    Oops. That had raised a concern. ‘She is lovely,’ agreed the man, ‘but we were just saying to David here, she does need a lot of work and, frankly, after a three-hour drive the last thing I’d want to do is get my hands dirty.’
    Lazy beast, thought Harry. Perfect. ‘Oh, quite,’ she agreed. ‘But you could always consider having the work done here. Watling’s has a long-standing reputation for offering a complete service whether you’re ashore or afloat. I’d be more than happy to give you a quote for all or some of the work, and you’ll certainly find our rates are a lot more reasonable than on the south coast. And, of course, the sooner you get the work done, the sooner you’ll be out on the water. There are some really lovely places to explore.’
    ‘And a brilliant new restaurant opening this summer,’ said a voice beside her. Despite her best effort with a look that would have felled most people, Matthew was still standing.
    Large as life – and how she wished she could say twice as ugly; but his particular brand of beauty, all that tousled hair and fallen-angel charm, still gave her a jolt every time. If bystanders were caught by the sparks flying between them, one look at their body language would prove that the electricity wasn’t generated by sexual chemistry. Certainly not on his part, anyway.
    ‘Why don’t we just leave these people to concentrate on what they came all this way to see?’ she said, trying to sound pleasant. She turned to the couple. ‘You carry on looking at Lapwing and, if you decide to go ahead and want a quote, just let me know.’
    ‘And if you’d like to come to the opening night at Samphire , let me know,’ Matthew smiled, handing them a card.
    What a chancer! Samphire indeed! The place was barely out of the ground and it already had a name. He didn’t miss a trick, did he? Harry ignored him and stomped off to do some sanding and take her anger and embarrassment out on nineteen layers of old paint clogging up a hull. After several minutes she became aware that someone was watching her; she hoped for the sake of her future liberty that it was George.
    No, it was Matthew, still looking lean and lovely; but armed, she must never forget, with a ruthless business mind. He mouthed something at her and she guessed it probably wasn’t ‘Darling, you look so attractive like that.’
    ‘What?’ she snarled, putting down her sander before it attracted unflattering comparisons with the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and snatching off her ear defenders. To make absolutely sure he could hear her, she also pulled her mask down round her neck. ‘Look, what do you want? Because I’m busy.’
    It wasn’t an invitation to start up a conversation, but Matthew seemed to take it as one.
    ‘Harry, will you stop cutting off your nose to spite your face and listen to